Page 36 of Hooded

“The female is to be taken to see Narlix.” I get a half-civilized response.

“Best let me go,” Fern says.

I know now is not the time to fight. I still hate it. She gives me a kiss as I make my way to the rear of the cell and turn my back, seething internally as I feel the forcefield drop and hear her footsteps trail away down the metal outside our cell.

“Something for you, Gryn,” the guard says, and there’s a thump before the forcefield comes back on.

I turn to see a large lump of meat, blood oozing from it. It has to be fresh, and we’ve not had anything fresh for a long time. I slowly circle it, studying it.

Raw meat was once one of my weak spots. The fresher the better, preferably something I killed myself.

I’m not proud of what I became…before Fern.

Fern. My mate. My reason for preening my feathers.

Fern…who isn’t here, and it makes my skin itch and I want to rip it off. The meat stares back. It would be good to bite into, to sink my claws into the bloody flesh. To fill my stomach for a change.

I open my wings, shielding the meat from the view of any others who might wish to take it, as I drop to my knees. It glistens in the light. I stick out a claw and slowly, carefully, slice through the flesh. It parts. Blood oozes into the gap.

“Eat, Gryn,” the voice booms above me. “You won’t get this feast again any time soon.”

What else can I do? My stomach churns, but the instant I put a sliver of the meat into my mouth, I’m gone.

You could fill me with paraxio, and I’d still not feel as good as I do consuming this bloody, meaty treat. Before long, my belly is full and there is no more flesh. I’m red from head to toe.

“Gryn. Come with us.” A guard stands next to me, psi whip in hand.

I attempt a snarl, but there was too much to eat, and as the endorphins swirl within me, I’m helped to my feet, not too roughly, and half dragged from the cell.

“Where…?” I growl.

“You’ll see,” one of the guards says with an element of glee I rarely hear in them unless they get to do some fighting.

I don’t want to fight with a full stomach. There’s a reason gladiators’ rations are restricted before the games.

None of this makes any sense, the meat must have been drugged, or something. I’m paying for being a feral predator.

I’m shoved through a set of doors, and bright lights half blind me for a nova-second or two.

“My champion…” Lord Halfen’s voice grinds out. “A Gryn gladiator.”

I snarl at the lights, at his voice, at whatever else is taking place in the room.

“Kept ready for the fight,” Lord Halfen adds. “Lean, mean, and with the added bonus, if I take his mate from him, he will destroy planets to get her back.”

My stomach wants to revolt, but my heart won’t let it. I roar out loud, claws fully unsheathed, I look for the Tormelek leader, fully intending to tear him to pieces for threatening my Fern.

“You can see he is ready. Place your bets with my purser,” Lord Halfen says with an evil chuckle. “I can guarantee he will win big for you on Kelion.”

FERN

“Have you been unwell?” Narlix stares at her vid-screen as I lie on the slab.

She has raised one end, although the entire structure still seems to be one single piece of metal.

“I was sick. I mean I vomited, earlier. Sometimes the rations we’re given don’t agree with me,” I explain.

Narlix doesn’t look up, swiping quickly over her screen, her face neutral.

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